


feels like i’m on autopilot being in love with you

by jingyeomficfest



Series: Jingyeom Fic Exchange 2018 [5]
Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, injuries, spies/agent au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 05:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jingyeomficfest/pseuds/jingyeomficfest
Summary: when jinyoung is made the reluctant mentoring officer of got7’s newest addition rookie agent kim yugyeom, he takes every opportunity he can to make life hard for him—until one presents itself to fall in love.or pepigyeom spies au whereby yugyeom fights a lot—some days for his life, some days with jinyoung, most days just for their love to last





	feels like i’m on autopilot being in love with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killsometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killsometime/gifts).



> spies au! but there’s not a lot of spying…..  
> much love and thanks to shan for feeding this fic love (and fixing my misplaced modifiers T_T) ily  
> and to maia <3 <3 <3 i hope you like it!!!!!  
> yay jingyeom!!!!!
> 
> side note:  
> ~ indicates present time  
> * indicates flashbacks

 

~

it was never meant to happen like this.

jinyoung has had years of experience clocked in as an agent. almost too many near-death experiences. he knows what it takes, what it needs, but up till now, never what it may cost.

if only he knew… he would never have let this happen.

“yugyeom ah,” he manages croakily, for what must have been the thousandth time. the boy on the bed doesn’t move. jinyoung reminds himself that he is still alive.

“…hyung is waiting for you.”

  
*

 “new member?”

 jinyoung frowns as he unbuckles the helmet and loads it back onto the rack. the team had just returned to base from another annual inter-force drill. jinyoung cranes his neck slightly and winces at the ache that had started to form.

 “getting old?” bambam teases, and jinyoung huffs. he feels a familiar firm hand hold his right shoulder down, then another begin to knead his left.

 “thanks, bam,” he mumbles, relaxing under his skilled massage. fingers fumbling to remove the bulky vest, he can’t help but question, “what new member was jackson talking about?”

 “oh,” bambam smiles, excited to share the rumours he’d heard. “apparently there’s a new member joining the team. a rookie, freshly graduated from the academy.”

 jinyoung’s head shoots up. “what?” he turns to stare at bambam.

 “hyung,” bambam scolds, before he’s pushing the agent’s head back to face the front and pressing his fingers against his neck muscles with considerably more force. “i don’t know if it’s true,” he continues, “but it’s just been going around. i heard it from taecyeon sunbae, actually,” he brags gleefully .

 “well,” jinyoung rolls his eyes, “what did jaebum hyung say about it?”

 bambam laughs, “that it’s classified.”

  
  
  
his name is kim yugyeom.

he was only 21, quiet but inquisitive, docile but impish. bambam took to him almost immediately; jinyoung watched jackson’s eager gaze follow. youngjae stayed fairly passive. mark wasn’t bothered. jaebum was watchful.

jinyoung hated him.

 “don’t touch that,” he snaps, when yugyeom’s curious hand had brushed over the new set of staves lying on the shelf in the weaponry one morning.

 “are these yours?” yugyeom asks, indifferent to jinyoung’s hostility.

 “yes.” jinyoung replies curtly, and the conversation ends. he is still angry at jaebum for assigning him to supervise yugyeom’s combat and marksman training. he’s used to doing things by himself—in fact, they all are, in their own ways. then a boy appears and they suddenly have to play babysitters. while he knows jackson and youngjae are taking to leading the new addition delightfully well, he certainly isn’t.

 “we’ll start with disarmament, then close range hand combat,” jinyoung orders. “gear up, rookie.”

 yugyeom only shoots the glimmering staves one last look, before nodding and trudging away.

  
  
  
“you were rough in training,” mark comments that afternoon, when he climbs onto the bench press next to jinyoung for their scheduled workout. unlike jinyoung, mark isn’t usually found at the forefront of field missions. being the team’s top sniper, strength was never his main priority. hence he opts for a slower pace, but nevertheless remains steady. jinyoung takes a deep breath from beside him.

 “he needed it,” jinyoung says.

 when mark doesn’t reply, jinyoung adds, “he’s still weak with heavy calibre handguns. slow to disarm, predictable defences. i don’t—“

 “it’s his first day,” mark interrupts, voice breathy. “play nice, won’t you.”

 jinyoung snorts.

 “soft spot for him already?”

 “nope,” mark carefully puts the bar back against the rack. there’s a layer of sweat beading his forehead. he pushes himself up with a grunt and throws a cheery grin in jinyoung’s way. “just think you’re being an ass.”

  
~

 it takes eight days for yugyeom to wake. and when he does, jinyoung panics. he is frazzled, stressed, anxious. he calls for the doctors. he is close to tears. jaebum has to grip him tightly when they’re outside the room—he’s trembling like a leaf at the shock, the fear, the joy, that yugyeom is really alive and awake—he didn’t leave—he didn’t leave, no, he stayed—

 “for kim yugyeom?”

 the news is uncomfortable to bear. they’d already known about the fractured hip, broken ribs, and twenty four abrasions spread out across his face and arms and legs. but there’s more—brain damage, the doctors had said, after running several scans.

 “the patient has some slight gaps in his memory regarding recent events—but it’s likely more trauma-induced than anything. what we’re concerned with is his speech, it’s a little slowed down and jumbled at the moment. based on our test results, areas correlated with speech production of the patient had been damaged, though we cannot be certain to what extent and what implications... so right now we’ll have to monitor his situation and we’ll recommend a pathologist to make a visit.”

 jinyoung has to bite down a despairing sob as everyone dwells on the new information. bambam only manages to stare at his feet. he’d swapped out his custom-ordered boots for slippers. these days all they’ve been doing is waiting—and sometimes they don’t even know what they’re waiting for. if yugyeom is alive... why does everything still feel so _bad_?

 there’s fear, because jinyoung isn’t sure what to expect. he’d thought he’d seen the worst when he caught a glimpse of the bloodied boy lifted onto the stretcher in the flashing moments before he was zipped to the nearest hospital; then he thought he’d seen the worst again when he was faced with an unresponsive one lying pale as the sheets for eight straight days.

 “can we see him now?” jaebum asks, squeezing jinyoung’s hand comfortingly.

 “of course. just take it slow.”

  
*

 jinyoung _is_ an ass.

 he knows that, alright. for the most part, he doesn’t provoke the rest of his team. having been together for a while, they’ve learned the art of threading lines among each other. jinyoung supposes his members are not too bad.

 it was only ever meant to be him and jaebum. they planned to go solo—as a flexible unit suitable for high profile missions. but plans change, as he had to learn, and so two became six.

 mark and jackson came together. they were a pair—and a formidable one at that. mark was calm and a skilled tactician; jackson graduated at the top of the cohort with some of the best combat skills. with mark a subtle companionship formed easily; with jackson everything was inevitable.

when bambam joined the team he was unimpressively _small_. but startlingly smart, too, and jinyoung fell for the boy’s charms like everyone else did. he only ever devised the most elaborate and dangerous of plans for the team—coincidentally the most successful ones too.

 then youngjae became the final addition—or so they were promised. they made task force 7, or got7, as bambam liked to call them. youngjae was a recruited engineer—top-notch in weapon curation, bomb detonation, spy technology. there was no question of his place on the team. together they formed a slightly dysfunctional team—more often than not their voices clashing like a cacophony than, say, sonata in c. yet if the post-mission kitchen lounging and pillow fighting was anything to go by, it would seem that they’ve found a way around their differences.

 ...jinyoung isn’t sure there’s room for more.

 “it wasn’t your place to make that move, rookie. what if bam’s cover got blown? or if jae hadn’t had enough time to disable the weapon? you put the entire team in danger because of your recklessness—i don’t know what you’re used to in the academy but over here we follow instructions—and since you’ve proven yourself completely incapable of doing so, i don’t think you should be participating in any more field missions for a while—“

 “youngjae hyung would’ve done it by then,” yugyeom mumbles.

 jinyoung scoffs. “excuse me?”

 he stares at the boy, appalled. they’ve just concluded an espionage mission at one of the top mobile companies suspected of collecting and tampering with data important to national security. yugyeom was assigned only one job—recce—and was instructed to report back to the van immediately. yet he’d discovered a familiar face linked with another case and took it upon himself to stop to chat.

 “youngjae hyung would’ve been done by then,” yugyeom repeats louder, though his eyes fail to meet jinyoung’s. “i’ve been watching him practice. his record was 37 seconds. he’d be done—and bam was safe, he reported he was leaving the lobby to head to the 68th, he was armed and the assistant wasn’t...”

 “are you saying i made the wrong call when i ordered you to report back?”

 “no,” yugyeom bites stubbornly, “i’m just saying i could have done more than _just_ recce. kang doesn’t recognise me like he recognises all of you—it was a good opportunity—“

 “for you to get into trouble and have the mission been endangered.”

 yugyeom then glares as his fists clench forcefully by his side. “why are you so angry? it went okay, didn’t it? we got the evidence, now we even have proof that kang’s men have been colluding with them!”

 “oh, geez, all thanks to the newbie yugyeom, who completely defied every single bit of instruction. you might as well have gone solo.”

 “...so that’s _it_? it’s all because you don’t want me on the team? i’ve been training with you for two months—why can’t you trust me to—“

 “what is two months compared to the years the six of us have gone through together? you think just because you’re one of those _094s_ —“

 jinyoung realises it too late. he shouldn’t have said that.

 “where did you hear that from?” yugyeom asks, voice suddenly soft, so drastically different and _vulnerable_ that it makes jinyoung’s heart drop unexpectedly.

 “i saw it on your file.” jinyoung admits.

 “you’re not supposed to know that.” yugyeom says, and his tone is cold. he shrugs the vest off hastily and drapes it over the rack before walking away. jinyoung probably should have followed—but he didn’t.

  
  
  
“you got it bad, huh?”

 yugyeom snorts. because jinyoung is a complete ass, he’d been held off going out to the field for a month. also because jinyoung is a complete ass, he’d denied yugyeom’s application to change his mentor. so now he’s still suffering under jinyoung’s tyranny—and he thinks that’s part of his fun, having yugyeom be bound to him, yet kept useless and restricted.

 “i don’t even know why he hates me so much...” yugyeom absentmindedly mumbles as he opens another file.

 bambam’s tone becomes sympathetic. “it’s not your fault,” he assures, “jinyoung hyung just takes a while to warm up to new people.”

 “was he this horrible to you too?”

 bambam laughs. “of course not,” he says, and yugyeom frowns. “but then again, it’s _me_ ,” he adds like that’s all the explanation yugyeom needs.

 and in a way—it is. bambam is charming and disturbingly smart, and if yugyeom thinks about it hard enough, he’d be able to list off a hundred reasons why every one of them deserves being on the team. everyone but himself.

 he knows what people say about ones like him. “ _094s_ ,” they scoff, and it’s always meant as an insult. the title refers to the agents born and raised within the academy itself—agents with parents of agentry lineage, agents who’ve had their fate sealed from the day they were born. it’s sort of a fast track, never having to go through the tedious recruitment or elimination processes. never really having to fight for your place—because it’s inevitable you’ll end up there. yugyeom knows what people say about ones like him. they’re entitled, they’re spoilt, they’re undeserving. most of the time they also end up _underwhelming._ sometimes yugyeom wishes he had a say in any of it, but he doesn’t.

 “jinyoung-ssi knows,” yugyeom suddenly confesses. he scans through the file in his hand, eyes landing shakily on the description of the victim’s death. it says he died of excessive internal bleeding caused by the gunshot wound. he made it to the hospital but never made it out.

 "...knows what?” bambam asks, eyeing him cautiously.

 yugyeom reads the file in more detail. he’s not supposed to care—these are closed cases he just needs to update and organise. but he does—he does care—he does care that this man had a family, he had a wife and a daughter, ageing parents, he had a job as a teacher at a small estate kindergarten. yugyeom does care—he cares that the man had died—and no one gets to do anything about it—they’re all just expected to deal with circumstances—even when circumstances are always unfair—

 “that i’m one of those,” yugyeom says, voice unusually shaky, “a _094_.”

 it stings to say it. it’s alienating, and maybe a tad bit hurtful, being labelled as if he’s an entirely different species. but if there’s something yugyeom knows for certain, it’s this: ones like him will never be like the others.

 bambam glances at him in surprise. he studies the younger agent’s face, and yugyeom cannot bring himself to look at him. the words on the file are becoming increasingly blurred—somehow they’re not making much sense anymore. the man had died two years ago. it was a civilian death, unfortunate, tragic. the force offered compensation, counselling, support. all guidelines were met; it’s almost as if the problem was solved. almost as if... no one needed to be sorry anymore.

 “that’s...” bambam stutters, “news.”

 yugyeom kind of wants to disappear. maybe he shouldn’t have run off his mouth and told that to bambam. the air sits silent and tense for a good minute before yugyeom finally tears his eyes away from the photo and closes the file.

 “look, i don’t think—“ bambam starts, an odd awkwardness clouding his voice, “that what they say is true... okay? i mean, you’ve been on the team for two months now, and you’re not—like— _that_.”

 “thanks.” yugyeom croaks, because he’s not sure what else to say.

 “jinyoung hyung just... he had it tough coming here. all of this means a lot to him—so he can be uptight about it, you know?”

 yugyeom swallows, “i get it.”

 bambam gives him a small, lopsided smile, and they complete the rest of the filing in silence.

  
~

 “i’m fine, can you please just get—get off—away, leave?”

 yugyeom looks away quickly when he sees the flash of hurt on jinyoung’s face. his gaze droops apologetically to his knees and he sighs.

 “i’m sorry—i didn’t...”

 jinyoung smiles sadly. “it’s fine,” he assures, but yugyeom knows it isn’t. nothing is fine, not since the accident, not since he woke up.

 “i’m tired,” he mumbles, and he’s not lying. everything takes so much out of him these days, from getting out of bed to just—talking—with anyone. he just feels so damaged, torn up, _useless_.

 “of course,” jinyoung says, as he gathers the duvet in his hands and spreads it out over yugyeom’s body. “warm?” he checks.

 “yeah.” yugyeom mumbles, burrowing his head into the pillow in his arms.

 “i’ll wake you up for dinner.”

 “okay.”

 jinyoung takes one last look at the younger boy—his eyes are squeezed shut, grip against the pillow tight. the wheelchair sits mockingly by the bedside. he bites down on a sigh and switches off the lights.

  
  
  
yugyeom reads the file again and again. it’s the same old case of the drug cartel he’d been working on months prior to the accident—he knows each and every name like the back of his hand. so as his eyes glaze over the neatly ordered statistics, he _knows_ something isn’t right.

 “hey,” jackson pulls out the chair next to him and sits down. “found anything yet?”

 yugyeom bites down on his bottom lip. “no,” he says, trying not to sound too deflated. he knows the team had been—well, _cautious_ —around him as of late, as if he’s the next detonating bomb. the last thing he wants to do is make them worry about _him_ on top of the pressing case in their hands.

 “you’ll get it,” jackson just smiles at him and ruffles his hair.

 it doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to turn up. jinyoung instinctively takes the place on yugyeom’s other side, gentle fingers interlocking with his own before squeezing comfortingly. yugyeom smiles at the feathery touch.

 “alright, guys,” jaebum begins, “there’s been movement within the _wolves_ and their lackeys. we need to be on guard and ready to strike soon.”

 yugyeom tries his best to pay attention. jaebum updates them about the disappearance of one of the cartel’s most prominent drug lord, kim seunghoon. he was part of a rivalling cartel before joining the _wolves_ , but had since secured numerous large-scale deals for them, easily and rapidly climbing the ranks. unless it was a planned-out betrayal—which was unlikely, given the efforts the _wolves_ had undertaken in trying to keep his disappearance under wraps—it seemed like he was on the run.

 “we have a list of seunghoon’s enemies,” jaebum announces, “but it’s a tight list—and we’re only working with guesses.” the team is vexed; they’ve never been stuck on a case like this before. the underground cartels in seoul have broad and intricate networks internationally—taking one down is only ever met with the sprouting up of another two. the force’s own experience with sending its undercover agents there long-term hadn’t been successful either. the entire system is so hushed and protected by families and alliances that it’s virtually impossible for anyone from the outside to infiltrate it.

 “mark and bam will be working on those,” jaebum instructs, and the duo nods. “youngjae, i’ll need your help analysing the anti-malware security system of their gyeongju base. they’ve had it upgraded very abruptly two days ago.”

 “bambam, i’ll need a meeting with officer minhyuk, and i want you to come with me.” bambam nods before returning to typing frantically on his phone. jaebum continues rambling about what they need to do but yugyeom tunes it all out—he’s not included anyway. it’ll be at least another three months till he’ll be able to return to the field. he tries not to think about the passing of time as his fingers begin to fumble restlessly against the wheel of his wheelchair.

 seunghoon disappearing… the _wolves_ trying to hide it… security changes… there was something about the situation that just wasn’t sitting _right_. what could he possibly be on the run for—what could it be that his own cartel couldn’t protect him from?

 “hyung…” yugyeom mumbles, reaching out to tug at jinyoung. he can’t tear his eyes away from the grainy photo of the new security system installed in gyeongju. it was oddly familiar, yugyeom thinks, but he’s lost trying to claw back his memories figuring out where he’d seen it before.

 jinyoung turns to him quizzically.

 “that’s—that’s from…” he trails off, words getting lost. “we’ve seen it,” he tries again, frustration slowly building. “i can’t remember,” he says, “but—we’ve—we’ve seen it. right?”

 jinyoung frowns slightly and inspects the photo a little closer. it captures the same old shady warehouses surrounded by the usual barbed fences—but every few meters there’s a small spherical device installed. jinyoung clamps his lips tight in thought—it doesn’t strike any particular memory, yet now that yugyeom had mentioned it—he thinks he _had_ seen it somewhere else before.

 “somewhere last year… right?” he hums, “around winter? i vaguely remember passing these things,” he points at the odd devices, “on one of the missions—it was snowing then.”

 yugyeom’s face lights up and he nods.

 “we can check,” jinyoung says as he pulls out the tablet. after about a whole minute of swiping, jinyoung finally finds it. “here, look at this,” he slides the device over to yugyeom, “that’s exactly the same kind of seismic sensors used by the _corals_ in macau.”

 yugyeom holds the photograph against the tablet. it _is_ strangely similar. considering that these cartels often have their own security software custom-made by their own for their own—it’s not likely they would hire a third-party programmer to entrust the entire syndicate’s security with.

 to top it off—the _wolves_ and the _corals_ are blooming cartels in asia. they’re the newest biggest dealers of their time, and well-known rivals, too.

 “weird.” jinyoung remarks.

 “it’s not just an upgrade,” yugyeom frowns, “it’s like they’ve—just—completely—the whole thing is… different.”

 jinyoung hums in agreement. “you’re right,” he says, “that’s unusual behaviour.”

 “hyung, look at this,” yugyeom flips the file to show the monitored profit statistics they’ve managed to get a hold of. “the _wolves_ have been doing good,” he points to the increasing numbers, most amounting to billions.

 “there haven’t been any—” he starts, but his brain can’t find the words again. “no… bad—bad problems…” he stutters, heat rising in his cheeks at his inability. “the _wolves_ haven’t had—like a break-in, or—like—” he frowns, fists balling up in anger, “you know, a problem. they wouldn’t… change it for no reason.”

 “hey,” jinyoung carefully unclenches the younger’s fingers. “i get you.” he assures.

 yugyeom doesn’t quite meet his gaze anymore.

 “so if they’ve been doing so well recently,” jinyoung reorganises their thoughts, “and there haven’t been any significant clashes or losses… for seunghoon to take off so abruptly—it doesn’t seem very much like a _running away_ thing.”

 “why would the _wolves_ try to hide it, though,” yugyeom mumbles. they’ve witnessed more openly carried-out internal restructuring of the cartels before. they generally don’t hide position adjustments.

 “unless…” yugyeom says, and he’s blindly reaching for jinyoung again. looking up, his eyes shine, and jinyoung has to remind himself not to get distracted and keep focusing on the case. “unless seunghoon isn’t— _running_ ,” yugyeom’s grip on jinyoung tighten in excitement, “he’s-he’s planning something—and—” he’s running out of the right words, train of thought still clear but ready to crash and diffuse into dust any moment in his mind. _stupid brain and stupid accident,_ he curses, grappling with trying to explain himself. meanwhile, jinyoung tries his best to follow—and then—with one hand still grasping yugyeom’s—it clicks—

 “hey,” mark bursts into the room at that exact moment. “there’s new intel from task force 6. there’s a meetup scheduled in macau in two days. organised by the _corals._ ”

 jinyoung’s and yugyeom’s eyes meet.

  _“unless they’re colluding for something bigger,”_ jinyoung completes.

  
*

 yugyeom’s first mission after that fight with jinyoung was… weird.

 he was at a loss. he didn’t think it was fair jinyoung was holding him to biased notions, yet he knew certain stereotypes existed for valid reasons. there generally aren’t many _094s_ around, and reasonably so, too. most parents—agents or not—wouldn’t want their children raised in an armed academy, taught to deceive and fight in lieu of playing with lego bricks. as for the lucky ones like him—they never make historical achievements. the reputation of the 094s remain as entitled, spoonfed, and decidedly mediocre agents. and while yugyeom doesn’t necessarily think it’s _fair_ —he’d come to realise over the years that more often than not people don’t have a choice in what happens to them.

 he resigns himself to the fact that someone without a name or face he can put to will be making _his_ choices for him.

 “i’m going in through the north exit,” jinyoung repeats as they’re strapping down in the airbus on their way to bangkok, “and you’ll be stationed outside the west gate. the moment you have eyes on our target, report code 29. follow him but do not approach unless we tell you to. clear?”

 “yes, sir,” yugyeom nods, securing the last buckle.

 the flight there doesn’t take too long—yet it’s long enough for him to feel awkward beside jinyoung. yugyeom spends the first twenty minutes observing the others’ and taking in their odd habits—such as mark who was counting the number of red _skittles_ relative to green ones in the box, or jackson who was writing out his chinese name repeatedly on the ground with his foot.

 then he gets bored and restless, but there isn’t much left to do. he switches on the tablet and bore holes into the target’s profile with his eyes for ten minutes, then into the blueprint of the area for fifteen.

 next to him, jinyoung sounds out a small sigh. “calm down, yugyeom,” he says. yugyeom swivels to looks at the elder in surprise. is he not calm? he thinks he’s calm. he’d been in more dangerous missions before, and he’d been trained for much worse. oh, he’s very calm, alright.

 “you’re tense,” jinyoung grumbles, and immediately there’s a hand clamping down on his restless drumming fingers. _oh,_ yugyeom realises, _not calm._ and between the onslaught of realisation that something’s _wrong_ and the weird buzzing feeling that comes with jinyoung’s hand on his—yugyeom almost loses focus.

 before he can react, jinyoung tosses a book to him.

 “read,” he orders, and yugyeom opens the book.

 he hates reading.

 it doesn’t take long at all before he’s zoning out—eyes glued to the words with astounding discipline, mind wandering with teenage rebellion. yugyeom doesn’t want to read at all. so he broods over the mission, possible failures, an expulsion, letting down his parents, being inadequate. it’s an easy spiral to fall into.

 “does the academy not teach you to read?” jinyoung grunts after ten minutes pass when yugyeom is still on the first page.

 “uh,” yugyeom startles, quickly flipping a page. “no. i mean, they do.”

 there’s a moment of pressing silence then. they’ve never actually touched the topic of the academy or his status again ever since the fight. jinyoung regrets bringing it up. yugyeom wonders if he has a point to make.

 “you’re going to be fine,” jinyoung then says. yugyeom swallows uncomfortably. he wonders if jinyoung means it—or if he’s doubting his abilities—or scared of offending. he bites down hard on his lower lip.

 “do you really—”

 “i actually—”

 yugyeom shuts up. jinyoung looks like he wants to continue, but then instead turns away with another sigh. jaebum announces to them that they’ll be touching down in ten. yugyeom steals a glance at jinyoung, who only looks miffed.

 “we’ll talk later,” jinyoung concludes, and yugyeom can only manage a small nod.

  
  
  
nothing ever seems to go according to plan anymore. of course, yugyeom knows it’s only to be expected that things go awry in their line of work. he just wishes life could take it down a notch from time to time.

 “does it hurt?” mark asks, voice gentle. yugyeom doesn’t really know what to say. the gash on his arm is big and bloodied—and it most definitely hurts. he’d been injured in trainings and missions before, though this time the wound sits a little more uncomfortable. yugyeom glares at it before he looks away.

 “it’s alright,” he shrugs, and mark tuts at him for jostling it.

 one room away, jinyoung sits rigidly. jaebum nurses the younger agent’s cut on his cheek in silence.

 “you’re okay?” jaebum softly asks, and jinyoung knows he’s not talking about the cut.

 “he got hurt,” jinyoung says. his tone is dry, indifferent—but they both know he cares, and he’s affected by the turnout of the day’s events. jinyoung really hadn’t meant for their target to come prepared, or corner him with a loaded .38 pointing at his head. neither did he mean for yugyeom to get involved—but the call was made, and backup was needed. somewhere in the scuffle, yugyeom got hurt.

 “…and it’s normal,” jaebum says, ever the man of reason. “everyone gets hurt here, jinyoung ah. it’s _dying_ we try to avoid.”

 jinyoung rolls his eyes.

 “he’s fine, anyway,” mark enters the room then, tearing his nitrile gloves off. he disposes of them along with the bloodied cotton swabs. “training alone would have done worse to him.”

 “it’s just—” jinyoung bites the inside of his cheek, “he got hurt because of me.”

 “that’s not true,” jaebum says warningly, “and we both know it.”

 jinyoung doesn’t argue after that, because jaebum starts sticking the bandage on. mark leaves the room and jinyoung overhears him shooing yugyeom to get some rest. jaebum’s next words take him by surprise.

 “if you care about him, just talk to him.”

 jinyoung stares at him incredulously.

 "jinyoung ah,” jaebum sighs, “you’re making yourself miserable.”

 “i don’t _care_ about him,” jinyoung stubbornly insists, but they both know that’s a lie. “not like that, anyway. i just hate feeling like i owe him one.”

 “you don’t,” jaebum assures, “because that’s not how teams work. we look out for one another.”

 “not him,” jinyoung shoots back, “he’s still—”

 “yugyeom _is_ part of the team,” jaebum then interjects, more fiercely than jinyoung would have liked. “he’d been a part of us for months now—and will continue to be. jinyoung ah,” jaebum frowns, “what do you have against him? this isn’t… like you.”

 jinyoung takes a double take at that. “what?” he shoves jaebum’s hand roughly away from his wound and stands up, “how can all of you just—just accept him so readily—we don’t even _know_ him, jaebum!”

 “jinyoung,” jaebum’s eyes soften, “if this is a trust thing—i’m sorry. i know it’s hard for you, but i was hoping you mentoring yugyeom could help. he’s here to _help._ i promise you he doesn’t have one single bad intent—”

 “it’s not that,” jinyoung spits. “i know he’s not _bad…_ but he’s not like us, jaebum, he’s different. he’s a bloody _094_ , for fuck’s sake, and you didn’t even think of telling us that!”  
“jinyoung,” jaebum grits, “you’re not supposed to know that.”

 “but i do.”

 “don’t you think that’s exactly why i didn’t want to tell you?” jaebum huffs in annoyance. “the force sent him here because he’s one of their best—i wouldn’t accept anything less. you know that, jinyoung. he’s _qualified—_ "

 “one of their best,” jinyoung laughs humourlessly. “he’s not even supposed to be _here_ , jaebum, _you_ know that. he didn’t get recruited, doesn’t _need_ this. hell, this could be nothing more than a part-time job for him. remember your parents waiting at home for you—and remember mine too. then tell me if yugyeom deserves _any_ of this at all.”

  
  
  
jinyoung sits uncomfortably on the floor, legs curled up against his knees. he’s hiding out in one of the storage rooms on board the bus—it’s cramped, stuffy, but maybe just what he needs.

 he hears laughing sounds from outside. he pictures bambam lying against jackson’s lap, while mark and youngjae battle it out in another game of mario kart. somewhere quieter, jaebum will be reading, but he will make sure he can still hear the loud bubbly sounds of youngjae’s laughter pouring through. with more effort, jinyoung pictures yugyeom, probably sitting on the other side of jackson, less touchy, but still comfortable.

 that’s his team.

 jinyoung replays his own words over and over again. he doesn’t know which parts of it he meant and which parts he didn’t anymore. time has mellowed his initial disdain towards yugyeom—and sometimes jinyoung catches himself thinking about him more than he should. he remembers hearing the sound of the knife slash hours back—seeing yugyeom wince, then the blood pouring out, yugyeom continuing to fight even with his balance thrown off, shouting at him to take cover—

 jinyoung cares.

 jinyoung cares a lot. he wishes he didn’t—because he _hates_ them. the force, the academy, the preferential treatment. somewhere in jinhae his family waits—and he knows his mother prays for him every day. it’s a tough job, and he misses his friends. he haven’t seen them in a while, he doesn’t know when he’ll see them again.

 he thinks back to when he was 10 and sneaking biscuits out of shops because he couldn’t take the hunger, then to when he was 15 with a pocket knife on him at all times because sometimes he got caught in fights. when he was 18 he signed a contract allowing for the force to monitor and track his whereabouts; when he was 22 he was given a team and a name for himself.

 a lot of it just isn’t _fair._ jinyoung had wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor. he had big plans for saving lives—but not like _this_. 

he knows yugyeom isn’t bad. he knows yugyeom isn’t the awful arrogant brat he wants him to be. he knows yugyeom has his heart in the team—and sometimes he catches on that yugyeom wants the love they have for each other so desperately but never dares ask for.

 they’ve been raised by circumstances—more so than humans.

 when he hears yugyeom’s bright laughter ring past the hallway and into the room, a knot in his gut untightens.

  
  
  
yugyeom lies in an awkward position on the couch of the airbus lounge. the rest of the team have retreated to their bunks, but he wanted to stay. they’re all headed further to australia next for a meeting with the high commissioner regarding another case. they have some time to rest till then—but he’s strangely restless and antsy.

 one of his favourite dramas plays on the tv screen. he struggles to pay attention.

 “why aren’t you in bed?”

 yugyeom jolts up at the sudden intrusion to realise it’s jinyoung—in a muscle tank and sweatpants. some part of yugyeom thinks he is really attractive, but most of him just want to avoid any kind of confrontation at the moment. he’s tired, shaken up, and still rather upset about the stupid injury. it’s inconvenient—burdensome, weak.

 yugyeom just hums and returns his gaze to the tv screen.

 “you’re barely paying attention,” jinyoung scoffs before he switches it off. yugyeom sounds out a noise of protest—but it gets ignored.

 “how’s your arm?”

 yugyeom’s voice is lazy and bored, “it was just a cut, jinyoung-ssi.”

 yugyeom props himself carefully up then, while jinyoung takes a seat next to him. “don’t move it too much,” he instructs, “be careful with the stitches.”

 yugyeom just nods stiffly. there’s no more background noise to fill in the tense silence, so he is forced to sit with the discomfort of the situation. his relationship with jinyoung had been strained from the start—once upon a time yugyeom could pretend it was tough love, but then it started to become evident jinyoung _hated_ who yugyeom was, and what he is made of. sometimes it hurt because yugyeom had wanted to feel loved here.

 “i want to talk,” jinyoung says, voice now quiet and uncertain, unlike his usual loud firm commands.

 “i’ve been thinking that—just because you were born in the academy with established parents or whatever—that you shouldn’t be here,” jinyoung takes a small shaky breath again. “but i realised it was unfair of me to do that, and you’re not… _like that_.”

 yugyeom looks at jinyoung carefully, slightly bewildered. he’d been expecting a scolding or some kind of debrief on today’s events. _this_ … is new. yugyeom doesn’t quite know what to say.

 “you don’t have to say anything,” jinyoung adds.

 yugyeom only nods. his throat is dry, his fingers fidgety. neither of them say anything for a bit more—but the silence that takes over isn’t exactly unwelcoming. yugyeom thinks back to the day’s mission—then the conversation before that—then how they ended up fighting back to back against another five men.

 jinyoung continues, “i just wanted to… apologise, i guess. i haven’t been a good or fair mentor, and if you want to change one, i won’t stop y—”

 “no!”  
jinyoung glances at yugyeom in surprise, only to see the boy’s ears reddening a little.

 “i mean,” yugyeom rushes to explain, “i don’t want to change a mentor… i’m used to your methods.”

 "oh,” jinyoung only says, “okay.”

 then they’re back to the drowning silence, and jinyoung wonders if this is really the same person he’d spent the bulk of his past few months with. he knows the exact time yugyeom stumbles out of his room in one of his horrid matching pyjama sets every morning, and he knows all the tell-tale signs when he’s nervous before firing. he can predict yugyeom’s attacks 90% of the time, and can instantly recognise when he’s having a rough day. yet… there’s still so much about yugyeom he doesn’t know, because he never bothered to learn more about him. a strange sense of guilt starts stewing in his gut.

 “you did well today,” jinyoung says, voice soft and wavering with uncertainty. “you had my back,” he adds gratefully, “and i’m thankful.”

 jinyoung can’t miss the small glimmer in yugyeom’s eyes when he looks up even if he tried. the boy looks shocked—then comforted, and _happy_. jinyoung nods and gives him a small smile. it’s not much—but it’s sincere, and it means so much to the both of them.

 “cool,” yugyeom lamely says. “i mean, you’re welcome, i guess.”

 jinyoung snorts, “you need to sleep. good night, yugyeom ah.”

 “good night,” yugyeom yawns, hobbling back to his bunk. “will you still be this nice tomorrow?”

 “maybe,” jinyoung only shrugs. “don’t push it, and i will.”

  
~

 yugyeom waits at the hangar, antsy. the team had left base days ago on one of their biggest missions yet—to infiltrate and bust the _wolves’_ and _corals’_ joint cartel conference. yugyeom would have loved to join, but he’s not yet cleared for field duty. so he’d been left to mope around restlessly, only relying on brief static updates every night to connect with the team.

 the good news: they did it. they successfully captured two of asia’s most notorious drug lords, and successfully halted what was to become one of the largest drug transactions made ever. the case is still far from closing—but they’re one big step closer to the end.

 …the bad news: yugyeom misses jinyoung. a lot. somehow he’d gotten so used to his constant nagging presence—and even more so after the accident since jinyoung sticks to him like glue. so his absence was felt quite a bit the past few days—even if yugyeom would rather die than admit it.

 turns out, jinyoung just knows how to make him do it.

 it doesn’t take long for the airbus to descend into the hangar. yugyeom watches with a building excitement as the roof retracts for the familiar vehicle to land. the roar of the engine gradually fades and settles into a light buzzing sound. one by one, his members alight, some lugging at heavy equipment, bambam strutting a runway walk in his pretentious gucci shades.

 it makes yugyeom laugh.

 “yugyeomie!” jackson hollers before he breaks into a slow jog towards him. youngjae perks up and follows suit despite carrying several sniper rifles in toll.

 “jackson hyung,” yugyeom greets warmly as the elder bends to engulf him in a half-hug. youngjae just ruffles his hair lightly. they’ve missed him, too.

 “we’ve got so much to tell you,” jackson says excitedly, “you really solved this one for us, yugyeomie. we’re throwing a freaking party tonight.”

 “who said that?” another voice interrupts, and yugyeom spots jaebum walking over, but not without a playful smile. yugyeom knows jaebum will give in to jackson, like he always does.

 “oh c’mon,” jackson whines. “we finally reunited after _ages,_ ” he wraps his arms loosely around yugyeom’s neck and rests his head gently above his shoulder. beaming up at jaebum, he pouts again, “please?”

 youngjae snorts. jaebum rolls his eyes, “we’ve been gone three days, sseun ah.”

 “it felt like forever,” jackson argues.

 "someone else probably missed him more,” youngjae coughs.

 at that, yugyeom peers up curiously, only to see the three of them slinking away with mirroring knowing looks. jackson laughs loudly when jaebum whispers something in his ear before they’re shuffling away without any explanation. yugyeom fumbles to turn his wheelchair to follow suit when he suddenly feels someone pulling at the handles—and he’s stuck.

 “hey,” a familiar voice greets from behind him, just as deep and gentle as yugyeom remembers. it almost sends a shiver down his spine. “did you miss me?”

  
  
  
yugyeom wouldn’t be able to explain how they ended up like this—but ideally, he wouldn’t have to, because he’s still rather embarrassed about it all, despite jinyoung’s shameless laughter that it’s alright.

 “…then i told him i’m from the _west side_ and he let me in.”

 yugyeom laughs. “ _west side?_ he believed that?”

 “of course,” jinyoung says, “my face’s a charm.”

 yugyeom snorts. “did you use the new… face—face changing? no, morphing—tech?”

 jinyoung swats him on his head playfully. yugyeom voices his complaint when foam from his shampoo lands on his nose. jinyoung giggles an insincere apology before his hands continue massaging his scalp. just like that, they bask in the comfortable silence of the bathroom.

 “you’re so pretty,” jinyoung comments after a while. “i missed you so much.”

 in the small confined space of the shower, his words sound even more intimate. jinyoung doesn’t miss the way yugyeom blushes, or how his gaze dips. it was jinyoung’s idea anyway to shower together. they’ve been struggling ever since yugyeom’s accident—but some time apart made them both realise how much they needed _this._ so jinyoung promises yugyeom it’s okay even if he still can’t stand, can’t remember—there’s the wheelchair, there’s therapy, then there’s him—and they’re somehow so close again, defying every expectation, soaking in the warmth and company of each other like it’s the only thing that matters.

 “hyung,” yugyeom whines slightly, but jinyoung pays him no attention. he turns the faucet to wash the shampoo and soap off the both of them.

 when he’s done, jinyoung practically lifts him off the plastic seat they brought into the shower for him and sets him down onto the bathroom sink, back leaning against the broad mirror. yugyeom’s gaze lingers upon him—takes in his toned back muscles when he stretches to take the towels, takes in how absolutely beautiful he looks with water droplets clinging onto his neck.

 “hyung,” yugyeom whines again, this time softer. jinyoung turns to look at him, and yugyeom swears he licks his lips just to tease.

 “kiss me.”

 jinyoung’s eyes don’t leave yugyeom’s, but for a few seconds, he makes no effort to move. yugyeom would do the work himself—get off the damn sink and pin jinyoung against the wall the way he likes—but he can’t. so he waits. jinyoung edges closer slowly.

 “you didn’t even tell me you missed me,” jinyoung chides, voice soft but strong. “did you?”

 “it was just three days,” yugyeom parrots after jaebum. “just kiss me quickly.”

 “pushy,” jinyoung laughs, tossing a towel over to yugyeom. the younger just rolls his eyes and sulks as he rubs the towel through his hair. when he stops, jinyoung is standing in front of him.

 “say it,” jinyoung urges, “say it and i’ll kiss you.”

 “you’re the worst,” yugyeom grumbles, but he gives in. jinyoung’s lips look so plush and pink—and yugyeom remembers all too well how they tasted against his, how they always left him begging for more.

 “i missed you,” he admits faintly, and jinyoung smiles, before bending closer to meet their lips. it’s sweet and gentle, but jinyoung still takes charge. yugyeom can’t think enough to complain—he falls fast and easy.

 …except only too soon jinyoung pulls away, and yugyeom chases his lips unsuccessfully. “hyung,” he moans, reaching out to clasp at the elder’s nape in disagreement. “no fair.”

 “say it again,” jinyoung orders, and yugyeom grunts.

 “i hate you,” he says instead, and jinyoung doesn’t move.

 yugyeom sighs. “i missed you, okay?” he now whines, and jinyoung relents. but this time, if his hands grip at yugyeom’s hips hard enough to bruise, yugyeom doesn’t protest. he certainly doesn’t—when jinyoung trails kisses down his throat, suck hard enough to leave marks, fingers pressing against his skin.

 “i’m glad,” jinyoung only says when he stops mouthing against yugyeom’s neck, “because i’m gonna make it all up to you tonight.”

 with a promise like that, yugyeom can’t object.

  
*

 “debrief at 10 tomorrow, specs room, the usual,” jaebum reminds, “as for now, rest up—”

 “…and party!” jackson squeals, a large grin forming. a series of loud cheers follow, but yugyeom glances at jinyoung uncertainly. he’d been on the team long enough—but not long enough to witness anything of this sort.

 “just team bonding stuff,” jinyoung chuckles as he helps mark with re-shelving the weapons they’d used prior. “here, reload this for me.” he hands two long-range rifles over to yugyeom who obediently takes it.

 “it’s not a party-party,” mark clarifies with a laugh, “it’s just us, some drinks, and yeah. we’ll be landing somewhere.”

 “where?” yugyeom asks. he’d thought they were returning straight to base.

 “classified,” jinyoung teases, and yugyeom grumbles. whatever it is—it sounds like the most fun they’ll be having in a while, considering what they do on the daily. yugyeom reloads the weapons as instructed. when he leaves, jinyoung gives his butt a playful kick.

  
  
  
mark didn’t understate it at all. yugyeom takes his time to shower, then refuel himself through four packets of microwavable cheese sticks in the pantry. he’d be embarrassed—but he’s still growing, he likes to think. for his height and awesomely long legs, he needs a lot of food.

 “don’t even think about it,” he hears someone call out to him right before he pops another packet into the machine.

 yugyeom turns and bites the inside of his cheeks. jaebum stands by the door, arms folded, accusing glare. yugyeom’s hand is frozen on the last packet of cheese sticks. he could still pop it in, bolt, then come back for them before jaebum catches him.

 “we have food,” jaebum just says, “better food.”

 yugyeom cocks his head curiously.

 “pepperoni pizza,” jaebum says, and it sounds too much like a challenge.

 yugyeom gives his cheese sticks one last glance before he sighs in defeat. jaebum just laughs and pulls him along. before he knows it, he’s dragged out of the bus, into an enveloping wide lush field.

 “woah,” yugyeom can’t help but to gasp softly, “where are we?”

 “somewhere in new zealand,” jaebum answers, “it’s safe here. we got clearance from authorities.”

 he’s dragged to the side of the airbus where he spots the rest of the team, lounging on the wing of the plane. “come on,” jaebum encourages, as he climbs up steadily. yugyeom follows suit and settles down onto the warm sturdy metal somewhere between him and jinyoung.

 instantly, he’s handed a whole box of pizza coupled with the familiar green bottles of soju. he grins thankfully as he starts to tuck in. somewhere behind him, bambam and youngjae are cackling loudly at something mark had said. jackson is cuddling up to jaebum’s side—while the leader just rests idly with a faraway gleam in his eyes.

 a gentle wind blows and jinyoung nudges closer to him.

 “you did well today,” he says, and yugyeom beams at him cheekily while chewing on his pizza. “thanks,” he replies, and jinyoung nags at him about swallowing his food before talking or something like that.

 they don’t say anything for a bit more—mark, youngjae and bambam sounding further than they were, jaebum and jackson somehow ending up curled up and snoozing. in the distance, the sun begins to set. the field of greenery basks in a mellow golden glow. to yugyeom, it begins to feel like home.

 “you know…” jinyoung says, taking a sip from his bottle, “if we were one second later, we probably wouldn’t have made it out today.”

 yugyeom frowns, stealing a glance at the elder. jinyoung was right—today’s mission was a close call. they just managed to make their escape right before the building blew up and shattered into rubble. yugyeom remembers the fumes clouding up the sky just as the bus drew away. maybe that’s why they’re having a party today, he concludes.

 “...but we did,” he says instead, as if it’s enough.

 it is for him.

 “how many times can we do it though?” jinyoung presses on. “i mean—don’t you wonder, yugyeom? how lucky can we get? yesterday it was a cut, tomorrow it’s a stab, when is our time going to be up?”

 yugyeom swallows uncomfortably. he doesn’t think about dying.

 “maybe soon,” he shrugs, but the tension is visible on his shoulders. he takes a swig and playfully pats at jinyoung’s cheek. “but until then—why should we worry about it? we’ll die when we die—let’s worry about dying when we’re dead.”

 jinyoung snorts. “you’re so optimistic, yugyeom ah.”

 yugyeom takes another swig from the bottle.

 “hey,” jinyoung pats his head suddenly, “don’t get drunk yet,” he laughs. “call your family first,” he says, softer. “days like these, we get that privilege.”

 yugyeom turns, and sure enough, he notices the wing is now emptied out. he spots bambam on the field, phone pressed against his ear, a worn but sincere smile on his face. somewhere a little further, he thinks he sees jaebum, too.

 "i’m not drunk,” yugyeom just argues. “you’re tipsy,” he accuses instead.

 jinyoung ignores him. “i’m going to give my parents a call,” he says, before he stretches his legs out and pushes himself up. immediately, yugyeom misses the warmth beside him. he can only stuff another pizza slice in his mouth disgruntledly as he watches jinyoung walk away.

 in his pocket, his phone buzzes. they rarely land long enough for them to get signal—it’s just the standard ‘welcome to new zealand’ text message. yugyeom scrolls through his miserable list of contacts. then he sighs and shuts his phone off.

  
  
  
“you didn’t call your family,” jinyoung accuses later on after night has fallen. the bottles have long been emptied, one too many agents staggering back to their rooms wasted. yugyeom didn’t drink enough for that. so he helps jinyoung as they pile up the empty boxes and clears out the wing of the airbus.

 “i didn’t,” yugyeom admits.

 jinyoung sighs. yugyeom doesn’t know why.

 “you never told us about them,” jinyoung says after a while. he doesn’t sound offended, or angry. just remarks it like a fact—and he’s right. yugyeom doesn’t talk about his family or growing up at all. sometimes it’s almost like his life only started with his initiation into the team.

 “we’re not really… close.” yugyeom’s tone is dry, indifferent. jinyoung picks up on it—and maybe any other day he wouldn’t press, but the combination of soju and a close call to death makes today different.

 “you’re special,” jinyoung reminds, and the numbers ‘094’ ring continuously in yugyeom’s head. “they must be busy… doing super-agent stuff.”

 yugyeom doesn’t say anything.

 “come on,” jinyoung puts down the bag of bottles, and it clinks noisily when it hits the ground. “who are they? tell me. i wanna know who i’m dealing with for meet-the-parents.”

 “funny,” yugyeom gripes, but he adores jinyoung too much to be offended.

 “you won’t have to deal with anyone,” yugyeom says after a while, fingers now fumbling with the clasps of one of the cardboard boxes. “…you know agent 34 and 83?” his voice now softens, almost like he’s afraid to say it.

 jinyoung pauses, and the realisation sets in.

 “…agents kim and bae?”

 yugyeom nods weakly, “yeah.”

 the night suddenly feels colder—and maybe just a tad bit lonelier. when yugyeom looks up, jinyoung has his eyes fixed on him, in a way that makes him feel _small._ yugyeom is used to a lot—the disgust from agents who work hard, the pity from agents who find out. but jinyoung stares at him differently—he treads between pure, utter sadness and a newfound understanding.

 “i’m sorry,” jinyoung just says, reaching to clutch at yugyeom’s wrist.

 “don’t be,” yugyeom smiles weakly, not because it’s a sore spot, but because he doesn’t really feel anything. “let’s get back in,” he suggests instead, starting to get up.

 jinyoung’s grip on his wrist loosens, but he doesn’t let go.

  
~

 on sentimental days, jinyoung would confess yugyeom is the best thing that had happened to him.

sure, they had a rough start. their first six months of knowing each other was shaped by argument after argument, before the hostility dissolved into a slightly more passive disgruntlement. it took a while more for a reluctant but steady respect to form, before they would even go as to call themselves ‘friends’. the rest was—(rather embarrassing) history.  
  
perhaps it was for this very sole reason loving yugyeom felt so much more than loving anyone from before. jinyoung used to fall so fast—but with yugyeom it was painful and tedious, it was dealing with ten bad days per one good one, it was like a mountainous trek that jinyoung wasn’t enough ready for. with yugyeom things were a little different, and jinyoung gradually came to the realisation that he was knee deep in love, and there’s no way out.  
  
there’s a lot that pains jinyoung. fighting with yugyeom, for one, is still as tiring as he remembers. maybe he was naive to think it would go away with the newfound sweet words and gentle touches, but the stubborn cold wars still find a way between them occasionally. it’s nothing their relationship can’t handle, but it still drains him.  
  
then there’s something about seeing yugyeom upset—because it’s rare, and it’s heartbreaking. even in their most blown up fights yugyeom tends to simply get _cross_ . he has a temper endearingly sweet. kim yugyeom doesn’t get let much get to him, ever. so on the days things do, jinyoung hurts with him. for the most part, he tries his best to never be the source of the other’s pain.  
  
seeing yugyeom cry was the worst of them all.

  
the first time it happened, they were just hoisted back up onto a helicopter after a disastrous cover mission. the extraction team was bustling about the aircraft reporting on longitudes and latitudes and magnitude of damage—and in the middle of it all yugyeom had sobbed into jinyoung’s chest because for the first time in his life he witnessed first-hand so much death that he couldn’t prevent.

 the second time it happened, they were in a cramped and cold bathroom stall. the team was invited to a special force memorial to commemorate some of the force’s bravest and most accomplished agents—and it was only then jinyoung learned that there was an additional unspoken criteria to being a 094. most of those kids had parents who were away. some on long-term undercover operations; others who will never come back.  
  
yugyeom’s parents were one of a kind.  
  
they were the ones jinyoung learned about in the academy, the best ones to model after. they were the ones whose names came up in every big successful mission the force brags about. they were the ones whose stories get told and retold during the trainees’ hardest periods—sort of like a mantra, or like the legendary heroes no one gets to meet, but would still try to impress. if only jinyoung had known the force changed their ending—he would have hated them just a bit more than he does now.  
  
it took a long time for yugyeom to calm. he’d only ever seen his parents’ in crusty brown files through faded portraits and uniformed listed text. it starts with their names, and the list drags on till ‘cause of death’. there’s something strangely vulnerable about acknowledging their absence in front of a crowd. the force calls it a courageous sacrifice, but to yugyeom it was only emptiness.  
  
jinyoung had no words for him when he held him in his arms. the tears were overdue and more complicated than he can explain. by then he’d gotten used to loss, so perhaps it was the newfound family he found that made him realise after so long—he was going to be okay.  
  
the third time is—now.  
  
and it still makes jinyoung’s heart clench and squeeze and hurt in an unwelcoming familiar way.  
  
“yugyeom ah,” he weakly says, trying without much success to keep his voice strong. “you’re okay. it might not feel like it,” he pauses, and exhales shakily. “but it will soon. i promise.”  
  
yugyeom only cries harder—but he clasps jinyoung’s hand quiveringly for support.  
  
“you’ll get better,” jinyoung promises, and his mind wanders to the tumultuous hospital days, the coma, the following weeks where the younger could barely look at anyone.  
  
“you’re _getting_ better,” he corrects, “so much better. just be patient for yourself, and for hyung, okay?”  
  
yugyeom doesn’t manage a coherent response, but his tears gradually dry up. against the desk lies the gun he’d been practising reloading for the past five hours, and just a bit farther away a stopwatch runs.  
  
jinyoung turns it face down, and unlocks the wheels of yugyeom’s wheelchair. “you can continue to practise tomorrow,” he shushes, when yugyeom starts to protest, “and the day after, and the day after that.”  
  
yugyeom falls silent, and jinyoung pushes the bangs out of his face. “hey,” he says, and yugyeom glares miserably. there’s no real threat to it, though, and jinyoung can’t help if a fond smile appears.  
  
“you have all the time in the world. take all the time you need,” he says, “i’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

  
*

 yugyeom leans back into the leather seat of the car. it smells newly furnished, and it makes him feel just a little sick. the glasses perched atop his nose sits large and wired up. youngjae monitors yugyeom’s surroundings through the device, so yugyeom keeps _song_ within his peripheral of vision so that the older agent can monitor his behaviour.

“jisoo-ssi,” song’s secretary announces from the front seat, “the director would like to meet you before we start the tour.”

 “sure,” yugyeom calmly replies. he’d gone undercover as an interested investor in song’s budding stem cell research. suspicions about certain shady scientific methods have been brewing about for a while now—some accusations more disturbing than others. while mark and jackson were working on securing evidence of the illegal deals his company has in action with some of korea’s prime government research centres, yugyeom was zooming in straight for the big fish.

 he needed strong proof of their operations. they need to shut the whole place down.

 static sounds cackle through his earpiece. yugyeom lets his eyes wander briefly to the fields they were driving past occasionally. stacks of hay line up orderly by the roadside; briefly he allows himself to get distracted thinking about jackson and mark referring to them as marshmallows before.

 then he hears the cue from jaebum to get into positions, and he fixes his gaze upon the road. the cue isn’t meant for him, but he still gets nervous. he hopes the others do fine. he’s only about seven minutes away from the facility now, gauging by their speed, and his memory of the map.

 he monitors his breathing patterns. _calm_ , he reminds himself, calm.

 he picks up shuffling and movement from the other side. youngjae counting down to jackson, then firm orders to _get the fuck out_. jackson announces he got the data. mark starts to engage with their target.

 everything is fine.

 (everything _should have been_ fine.)

 “shit,” youngjae suddenly mumbles, and an uncomfortable silence falls.

 “ _shit_ ,” he says again, and yugyeom only registers muffled sounds of panicked typing against the keyboard.

 “jaebum,” youngjae calls, “jaebum, they activated a lockdown. guards are closing in on the north wing—mark, update? i lost surveillance—“

 “back up,” mark only mumbles. he sounds alarmed, and that alone is enough to alarm _everyone else_. yugyeom holds his breath.

 “fuck, we’ve been found out, someone’s trying to intercept—“ static. bambam says something else, but it gets cut off again.

 “yugyeom,” jaebum orders, “yugyeom, get out of that car. get _out_ of that car.”

 yugyeom glances at the men in front of him. song is still focused on the road—then a slight buzz cuts through the silence. the secretary fishes his phone from his back pocket. yugyeom watches him as he peers at whatever notification he’d just received.

 the man fakes a cough, and he shares a look with song. yugyeom pretends not to notice when song throws a meaningful glance at him through the rearview mirror. through his in-ears, more hasty extraction orders are being yelled out.

 yugyeom curses. he expects the car to stop, but song only steps on the pedal and speed up. it makes yugyeom jolt in his seat. 

he glances down at his legs. against his ankle, his pistol is strapped. he needs to get out of the car; they’d been busted. oddly, if song had found out that yugyeom’s a spy, he does not show it. it makes yugyeom tense. meanwhile, jinyoung presses him for updates again.

 “mark and jackson are clear,” youngjae says, “yugyeom’s still in the car. they’re speeding up? fuck, where—“

 yugyeom is taken by surprise when the car makes a sudden swerve around a bend. song is accelerating now, knuckles gripped against the steering wheel so tightly they’re faintly white. the secretary only looks mildly put out.

 “where are we going?” yugyeom shakily asks.

 “drop the act, _agent_ ,” song grits, spitting the last word out as if it was venomous. yugyeom doesn’t feign ignorance, but neither does he fess up. he just clutches tightly onto the roof handle, while another hand slides towards the hem of his pants.

 “protocol,” the secretary vaguely remarks. “can’t have our lovely agent here tracking down our site, then sharing it with all his agent friends.”

 song laughs derisively. “no, that’d be bad. i just got started with this company.”

 yugyeom swallows uncomfortably. “it’s too late,” he says, trying his best to sound threatening. he thinks he barely passes off as _unthreatened_. “we’ve already gotten evidence of your transactions with the government. you’re going down either way.”

 song scoffs, but no one bothers to say anything else. youngjae reports his location over the line. jinyoung and bambam report they’re nearing. jaebum orders him not to engage unless truly necessary.

 he’s not in a good position to do anything.

 then from the corner of his eye, he spots the car. it starts no bigger than a dot in the rearview mirror, but yugyeom knows it’s his team. they’re coming—bambam tells him he might need to make a break for it.

 the car is going too fast. 

song then spots it, too.

 “not so easy, kiddo,” he murmurs, and yugyeom makes a grab for his gun. within the next few seconds, a few things happen: yugyeom cocks the weapon, lunges at the secretary, holds him in a chokeslam, and points the gun against his head.

 except… in those same seconds, the secretary whips out a gun and aims it against his abdomen, too.

 song makes another abrupt swerve, and yugyeom nearly loses his balance. he realises with increasing panic they’re in the opposite lane—cars are honking and veering to avoid them. jinyoung and bambam are closer; someone is yelling at him to get out, get out, _get out_ —

 yugyeom withdraws the weapon slowly and raises his arms as he retracts away from the front seat. the secretary doesn’t budge. the weapon still points towards him.

 he counts to three.

 then with precise aim, he kicks at the offending hand and lunges to hit the secretary with a terrifying loud blow. song flinches and steals a panicked glance, taking his eyes off the road for a split-second, which proves to be a mistake, because right as yugyeom reaches far enough to unlock the fucking doors, song averts his eyes back to spot a truck coming at them at full speed—and the last thing yugyeom hears is jinyoung shouting at him to “watch out, gyeom!”—before he feels every ounce of the impact, bone-shattering pain, a wretched scream leaving his lips—then—silence.

  
* // ~

 “yugyeom ah,” jinyoung corners him one evening, when they’re on one of those rare sacred breaks. most of the team has emptied out base—mark, jackson and bambam having caught the earliest flights back home, while jaebum and youngjae left just hours ago to return to their respective hometowns. yugyeom didn’t have anywhere to go to—there’s the option of returning to the academy dormitory, but he can’t fathom a good reason he’d do that. his 094 friends from his training days have all progressed on to other things, dispatched all over the world. it’s going to feel just as lonely there as it will, here.

 jinyoung has better plans, though.

 “do you want to come with me?” he asks, his eyes bright and welcoming. yugyeom splutters, taken aback by the sudden invite.

 “to jinhae,” jinyoung just explains like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “i want you to come home with me, you know, meet my family… my parents, my sisters, they’d love to meet you.”

 “i…”

 jinyoung looks at him, and there’s no pressure in the offer. just… sincerity. jinyoung takes his hands, and holds them gently in his own slightly smaller ones.

 “only if you’d like to, of course,” he assures. “but i’ll have you know that—my parents have heard all about you, and since you don’t have plans… it’ll be a nice way to spend some time together. they _really_ dote on you, you know that.”

 yugyeom laughs. “yes,” he confirms, thinking back to the tupperwares of cookies he’d been receiving frequently from the other’s parents. “i know that… it’s just—it’s _your_ family time…” he frowns, becoming more serious. “i know how much this means to you, and i really don’t want to impose.”

 jinyoung huffs. “you’re not imposing,” he scolds lightly. “besides—you’re like… family to me now, too, we’re basically _boyfriends._ ”

 “we _are_ boyfriends,” yugyeom confirms playfully, just because he gets a kick out of saying it, and also because some part of it still flusters jinyoung, which is entertaining to watch.

 “so come meet my family. spend the holidays with me.”

 “...well, since you’re _begging_ —”

 “yah, kim yugyeom—”

  
  
  
they take the bus down to jinhae from seoul.

 off-duty, yugyeom thinks jinyoung look… younger. he’d swapped his usual black ensemble for a striped sweater, and yugyeom clings onto him more than necessary just because he looks and feels very comfortable. he’s also no longer frowning and tutting at every mission update, so it feels… nice.

 the journey is lazy and slow. yugyeom spends half the time snoozing against jinyoung’s shoulder, then the other half gazing out of the stained windows, watching the afternoon pass by.

 “yugyeom ah,” jinyoung prods, gently nosing his hair. yugyeom just hums, neck rather sore, but unwilling to move.

 “you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

 yugyeom cranes his neck a little, and looks up at jinyoung.

 “i know,” he says, somewhat confused but more pleased.

 “...remember when you told me you don’t think much about dying?”

 yugyeom frowns. he nods, then interweaves his fingers into the elder’s. 

“can you at least promise me something?”

 “hyung…” yugyeom mumbles in concern, thumbing some of jinyoung’s bangs out of his face. jinyoung doesn’t look upset, just pensive. he gives yugyeom a small smile and coaxes him to lie back down against him.

 “i’m fine,” he automatically says, “i just… i’ve never brought anyone home before, and... they’re all gonna know this is serious.”

 yugyeom nods.

 “...and this _is_ serious, but sometimes i still think so much about what we do—how we live—and i worry so much, for the team, for myself, for _you_.”

 yugyeom doesn’t know what to say.

 “just promise me—you’ll look out for yourself, okay? and no matter what situation you’re in—if you have any, _any_ choice… don’t leave.”

 yugyeom grips jinyoung’s hand tighter, and nods again.

 “i promise you, hyung,” yugyeom says, “i’ll always stay.”

  **FIN.**

  



End file.
